


Toastlock

by millipii



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, AU - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe, And surprisingly depressing, Angst, BASICALLY EVERYONE IS BREAD, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, HAHAHAH A HA HA help me, Humor, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, Idk if it's angsty, It's a thing now, Jealous John, Johnlock - Freeform, KILL ALL THE CHARACTERS, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Toastlock, it gets complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:40:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millipii/pseuds/millipii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toastlock didn't believe in love. Until he met JohnBread, who showed him just how wrong he was.</p><p>(Toast au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Pita

**Author's Note:**

> Read at your own risk.
> 
> WARNINGS: contains excessive bread puns, bad writing, and a level of crack that should've ended with the first chapter.

**~~~JohnBread~~~**

 

In the kitchen of the Big House, there was a small, dingy, beaten up oven.

It wasn't big, by any means, and had a steady collection of rust gathering on the beaten down and worn out metallic surface. The handle was stuck at an alarmingly bent angle, and every so often the racks inside would rattle and give off sudden orange sparks while rapidly heating. The sudden burst of energy would stop as soon as it begun. The oven, of which the knobs were always fixated on 221 degrees (Bake), was ignored by many of the kitchen's inhabitants. It wasn't a common destination for the majority of the carbohydrates and such living in the more clean and recently renovated parts of the Big House, of which it's inhabitants were extremely grateful.

"JohnBread!" a deep and mellow voice called out, crumbs flicking over the surface of the oven. A lightly browned slice of bread peeked out from the top rack of the oven, sighing at the sound of his name. JohnBread swung himself into the main rack of the oven, frowning at the sight of his flatmate's messy quarters.

"Do you ever clean up around here?" he mumbled, sidestepping a messy glob of strawberry jelly, almost tripping and falling through the rusty metal bars. The bread across from him just stared, the dark and burnt holes of his eyes boring into JohnBread observantly. He shook his head, moving to meet JohnBread halfway across the oven.

"It doesn't need cleaning," the burnt toast replied. "And besides, my environment helps me think," he remarked wisely. JohnBread snorted and began scooping up the mess, attempting to gather the multitude of spare crumbs and grains into the corner of the oven.

"Toastlock-" JohnBread began, running a hand through his usually neat crust. Toastlock just gave him The Look. The one where he was probably secretly cursing JohnBread's baguette-like tendencies in various languages and lamenting his stupidity. JohnBread hated The Look. But before he could comment on it, Toastlock grabbed onto JohnBread's arms and stumbled out of the oven. Except not really stumbling, no, only JohnBread stumbled. Toastlock, well, he flipped gracefully out of the oven, movements agile and swift despite his unique and fired outer appearance. JohnBread felt his stomach flutter at the sight of the beautifully handsome toast executing a perfect backflip off of the oven handle and onto the counter.

"Where are we going this time?" JohnBread grumbled, already missing the warmth that came with the dingy oven they called home. Toastlock looked back at him, rolling his eyes.

"Oh come on, you can't be that thick!" JohnBread huffed at the other bread's words, annoyed. Toastlock sighed flippantly and continued on their journey across the kitchen counter, albeit a bit slower. "A case, JohnBread. We've got a case!" Excited crumbs fell off of him as they rolled across the counter, narrowly missing a bypassing wheat by-product. She giggled as she brushed Toastlock's arm, looking into his cold blackened chest longingly. JohnBread felt a pang of something arise somewhere deep inside of him, his buttery core melting as he looked back at Toastlock who didn't seem to notice her reaction to him.

He never did notice.

JohnBread had witnessed many more exchanges like that, piles of bagels who would line up to have just one side of the crust Toastlock lived as. Toastlock would always brush them aside, instead focusing on the banana that had just been brutally sliced in half or the leaf of lettuce who had been mangled and torn apart. Murder was the air he breathed, and he would let nothing contaminate it. Not even the countless loafs of bread chasing after him.

(Of course, JohnBread wasn't upset about the many rolls who wanted Toastlock for themselves, no, of course not. It was just that Toastlock and him had been together far longer, and therefore Toastlock liked him better so there wasn't really any point in trying to get his attention. Honestly.)

In fact, Toastlock never seemed to pay attention to anyone. Whenever JohnBread tried to discreetly find out if he liked whole grain or white bread, he wouldn't even comment. Instead, he pushed himself out of his resting position and stood close to JohnBread, close enough that if he wanted to, he could count every grain on Toastlock's body (and he wanted to).

"I don't need anyone, JohnBread," he whispered, that perfectly roasted and tempting surface of his making JohnBread's dough flush and quiver. Toastlock left before he could hear JohnBread's silent words, spoken as softly as possible.

"I thought you kneaded me..."

 

**~~~Toastlock~~~**

 

Slightly drippy butter. Perfection in his browned outer crust. The soft, adorable yellowed center. The way he crunches whenever he sits down. These are the best things about JohnBread. The things Toastlock keeps closest to his heart.

Toastlock isn't sure where he's taking his friend, only that he needs a reason to get away. A place to solve crimes away from the bustling kitchen of the Big House. Toastlock needs space to think. It's been about a year since he'd realized his immense growing fondness for JohnBread, and he doesn't know what to do with it.

He didn't know what the feeling was, only that it did, in fact, exist, and there was no ignoring it. Could Toastlock possibly have made a friend? No. No, nien, non, nyat... Toastlock dismissed the thought. He didn't need anyone, he didn't have anyone. He doesn't have friends. He has always been alone and always will be. That's how its been for all the years prior to JohnBread. Toastlock repeats a mantra in his head, a chant, something to cling to when his mind gets messy and his thoughts stray.

"Alone protects me," he whispers aloud to the noisy dining room.

"What's that?" JohnBread asks, brow furrowed. They roll quite loudly into he next room, leaving the bustle of the kitchen behind. "Didn't quite hear you."

"Nothing," Toastlock snapped, and instantly regretted it. JohnBread's face fell and he stumbled a couple steps.

"You don't have to be so..." He trailed off. Toastlock sniffed and turned away, trying not to feel anything.

An awkward silence ensued as Toastlock observed the room they were now in. The living room. The crime scene screamed "suicide," and he couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed. Loafstrade was always a bit dull, and the police never could see a crime scene like him.

Beside him, he could hear JohnBread's breath catch as he no doubt glimpsed the thoroughly dismantled sourdough in front of them, clumps of raw dough stuck in various places around the table. It was a gruesome sight, the sourdough's dismembered parts scattered on every single surface of the room.

Loafstrade approached them, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, mouth set in a grim slice.

"Well?" He asked gruffly, gesturing with his whole-grain body towards the death. "What's the story for this one, eh?" Toastlock noted that Loafstrade looked upset, seeds strewn across his back and butter smeared haphazardly across his face. He quickly deduced that Loafstrade was sleep-deprived, in mourning for a great-great aunt's death, and also depressed about not being able to find the perfect bagel to love. Toastlock's mouth twitched into a sarcastic smile.

"Suicide staged to look like a murder," He stated. "Look over there, the grains on the windowsill match the ones on the table. Other than that, there were no types of differentiating crumbs anywhere in this room. And the death clearly happened here, as no parts of the slice seem to be missing in any way, shape, or form. Doctor Doughson," Toastlock said to JohnBread, motioning for the doctor to take a look at the body.

"Am I wrong? No? Moving on. "The sourdough killed herself in an inhumane way, leaving bits of her crumbs to form a note-right there, see the letters? You and your team of idiots," Loafstrade growled softly at Toastlock's words. "Well, they messed up the suicide note. She obviously wrote it, ran to the window, and jumped off onto the table. In her dying moments, she plunged the toothpick into her body to kill herself quicker. Correct, Doctor?"

Toastlock knew he was right. He just wanted to make JohnBread feel useful.

"Yes, as always," came the reply. "Honestly, I don't know why you bother asking anymore."

Toastlock was taken aback by these surprisingly common words. There was nothing special, but they made him wonder.

"I don't either, JohnBread. I don't either."

JohnBread snorted, before leaning in close to Toastlock's face. He felt his already-dry mouth get even drier, which he didn't even think was scientifically possible as he was a 39 year old stale piece of burnt toast that was, in nature, quite dry. They were almost close enough to kiss, he noted idly. JohnBread almost seemed like he might close those last few inches, but then backed away. Toastlock couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed.

The two made their way back to the oven in relative silence, apart from JohnBread praising Toastlock's intellectual abilities every so often. Toastlock felt his blood still rushing to his head at the thought of JohnBread being that close.

He was almost drunk on the thought of JohnBread, the intimacy that the other bread could reflect upon him. It was too much for friends to give each other, and wrong in every way, but Toastlock found himself addicted, craving JohnBread more than his strawberry jelly. The invisible and imaginary feeling of their crusts brushing against each other's, desperate and wanting and...

It could drive him mad, he supposed, if he wasn't mad already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments literally make my day. If you comment we will be friends. No choice. It is required.
> 
> Okay but cAN WE TALK ABOUT THE UPCOMING CHRISTMAS SPECIAL


	2. The Blind Baguette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JohnBread is led away from Toastlock by an enchanting baguette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's awesome? I still get kudos on this even though I haven't updated in like three whole months. Feel free to shame me.
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for your super nice comments! Y'all are seriously the best. I love you.

**~~~JohnBread~~~**

 

JohnBread wasn't what one would call a high-class slice of bread.

His parents had both come from the local Walmart, bought and packaged in a cheap and flimsy plastic cover and left to mold and grow stale under a rusty bread box in the dirtiest corner of the kitchen. They had passed away not long after creating him, the moist conditions too much for their flimsy corroded crust could bear. JohnBread remembers crying at the funeral. He remembers rain.

The point is that he was not, in any possible way, from a top-notch whole grain artisan loaf. In fact, his thick Italian white inside often was looked down upon by the classier baguettes. JohnBread came to the depressing conclusion that the only reason why he didn't have a partner was because of his looks. He hated it. Hated how the members of the kitchen always seemed better than him. Fresher. Younger. Had less of a caloric intake. It was things like this that made JohnBread wish he was a French baguette.

JohnBread set aside his recipe book and looked out the smudged glass window of the oven, wondering whether Toastlock was still on that mysterious case of his, the one about the sigils and ritualistic human sacrifice. He wasn't going to wait and find out. Pulling on a thin layer of blueberry jam, JohnBread swung open the oven door and let himself out. Being lonely wasn't doing him any good, he thought, heading towards the counter. He needed something to do.

The air outside the oven smelt stale, and it was peppered with gusts of cool air blown over from the open refrigerator. JohnBread smeared his blueberry jam even thicker over his body, trying to ignore the cold that washed over him. As expected, the bottom half of the oven was devoid of any kind of wheat product, save the occasional smears of strawberry jam and flourless dough strewn around as usual. JohnBread sighed, making a mental note to knead his room when he got back from Loafstrade's bread box.

He started off, rolling his way to the kitchen. The flour strewn tile beneath him bit into his delicate stature, and he winced. It was too messy outside to just think, to just ponder his predicament. His eyes scanned the usually busy counter top, confusion rising as no bread was to be found.

"Where is everywheat?" He mumbled, raspy tone carrying over the vacant room. JohnBread turned in his place, almost spinning straight into the slightly warm metallic side of a toaster oven. It rattled emptily, the misery of the vacant square resounding emptily throughout the room. Chills ran down JohnBread's crust as he faced the depleted drawers where snack foods once sat, the agape refrigerator door that swung miserably from one squeaky hinge, it's cold gusts of air washing over him. He shivered and felt fear rise to his buttery core, the familiar sense of dread settle in as easily as jelly upon his crunchy outer layers.

JohnBread stayed calm, his years as a Salivation Army doctor had taught him as much, though he supposed Toastlock had taught him even more.

The sound of a toaster dinging somewhere in the distance drew JohnBread sharply out of his revere and into reality. His ears were alert and his eyes were watchful, the burnt holes boring into every inch and every surface of the kitchen, scanning for any kind of movement.

A dull whispering tugged at the back of his mind, soft and grating and strangely... French. The voice was close, feminine. JohnBread whipped around in confusion, his features contorting into an expression of surprise when he realized what type of bread stood in front of him. A baguette.

She was tall, taller than JohnBread, which wasn't hard to do as he was already rather short and squished. Her slender, doughy frame was accented by the slight crispy yellow of her crust, three perfectly cut lines contouring her figure in the dim light. A subtle smear of distinctly scented raspberry jelly splattered across her pale complexion, standing out, a dark stain that only seemed to serve the purpose of highlighting her well-baked appearance. JohnBread's throat would have became suddenly scratchy if he had a throat, and he wondered who this yeasty goddess was.

Her elegant hand extended, reaching desperately for JohnBread's own crumbly exterior. He pulled away, eyes glazed over. Oh Grissini, he thought. He was worse than a Krispy Kreme doughnut with the way he was acting.

"Ma'am?" he inquired politely, trying to keep his tone even. "Miss Baguette-"

"I don't care for labels," she cut in. JohnBread had to bite back a squeak of surprise. Her voice was just as sultry as her appearance, her narrow almond eyes smiling gently into his. "Call me Panarah."

"Panerah," JohnBread repeated. "Pretty name, isn't it?"

"American."

"Ah."

There was a pause in conversation as he fumbled for a second, filtering through his clouded mind for something to say, anything. If Toastlock were there, he'd know what to do.

Finally, a sentence came out, and JohnBread nearly collapsed with relief.

"So," he began awkwardly, shifting so he was leaning slightly on the nearby bread box. "Do you know why there's nowheat out here today?"

"Actually no," Panerah replied, the ghost of a frown tracing the edges of her thin smile. "I was hoping you could tell me that."

"I'd be happy to tell you anything. Er, I mean..."

"I'm looking for a detective." Panerah giggled. John bread blinked.

"What?"

"You know, the famous pretentious one. He's rather burnt, isn't he? But brilliant." A sigh escaped her lips as a fleck of margarine flew from her toasted top to the floor. He stared, mesmerized.

"Oh. Um, I happen to know him. You're looking for Toastlock, yeah?"

Panerah gasped daintily, leaning in slightly until she was at eye level. Her long stocky frame went up, up, up, and Johnbread's mind swirled as if he was intoxicated.

"You know him?"

"As a matter of fact, he's my..." _Colleague? Flatmate? Something more?_ There was something completely different about Toastlock, something that couldn't be described by simple adjectives or labels. "Friend," he decided on, though the word felt both right and wrong at the same time. Panerah didn't seem to notice. Instead, she squealed and clung to Johnbread, exclaiming that he simply _must_ introduce her to Toastlock. He replied with a short nod of affirmation, and the two morsels started the long journey back to the oven.

The two began shuffling down the kitchen, the oddness of the situation biting at the back of JohnBread's mind the entire time. They exchanged pleasantries, and in a short amount of time, he had learned about Panarah's two siblings (a ciabatta roll and a piece of naan, adopted) and how she liked to listen to the sound of the dishwasher at night and how she made friends with all of the vegetables even though other wheats treat them like garbage. There was a tugging at his crusty non-existent heart at the look in her eyes when she laughed as she told him about Toastlock's wild adventures, and he wanted more.

JohnBread and Panarah waddled over to the bread box, plopping themselves down upon it's shiny polished surface with a smattering of crumbs. JohnBread could feel his hypothetical heart pounding, leaning in against Panerah's soft browned loaf. Could he kiss her? Now? His jam smudged softly across the metallic surface they sat upon, and he flushed, nervously rubbing the entirety of his body on the bread box to get it off. Alas, he only managed to smear all of his jam onto the wall. Panarah's eyes trailed greedily over his empty sliced body, and he sucked in a breath. His whole being felt like it was on fire.

"Ah, erm... That is to say, I'm really sorry about..."

"Here," she whispered, moving closer. "Let me help you."

The melted core inside of his quaking, paper thin body grew hot. JohnBread struggled to keep his jam covering his body as he shuffled backwards, ignoring the dinging toaster screaming at the back of his mind to stop. His side met the harsh solidity of a wall, and Panerah grew closer and closer. She was all he could see, all he could hear.

"You're quite handsome, aren't you?" She purred. They were close, too close. Johnbread wanted to lean forward and make the final move, but his body was frozen. What about Toastlock?

_What about Toastlock?_

"I can't," he gasped. The words felt foreign, moldy inside his mouth. He struggled to take a breath. "I can't do this. Not in public, not with you. Sorry," he added.

_What about Toastlock?_

Her face fell. Margarine dripped lazily to the floor, yellow as the sun and thoroughly melted. Silence.

"I see. Your face when you talked about him, I just- I mean I should've known, yeah?"

"What?" came his reply, short and flustered and surprised. "Toastlock?"

_What about Toastlock?_

And she backed away, all seven inches of her, a trail of butter steadily flowing from her dripping form. "I can find someone else," Panerah said. Her voice was unmistakably clear, as if he didn't really mean that much to her anyways. "It's only a standard wheat discharge. Nothing too big. You and your boyfriend probably don't do trivial cases, anyways."

There was a ringing in his ears. His crust felt like it had been sliced off without mercy. Not because of Panerah, though. The pain was something that had been building up, something he had suspected to be true all this time. A realization.

_What about Toastlock?_

"Yeah," he heard himself say. "Yeah, alright. Good luck." Panerah must've left right after that, because five minutes later when Johnbread coughed out the mold from his gaping mouth and made sense of his scrambled-egg-thoughts, the sensual baguette was gone.

What had he just done? 

Abandoning a perfectly toasted baguette, probably a first class citizen, had not been within Johnbread's character. At all.

Abandoning a perfectly toasted baguette who had even made the first move and was interested in him was even worse.

Abandoning a perfectly toasted baguette because he thought of _Toastlock_ , however, was beyond bad. In fact, it was catastrophic.

"Fuck."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~A Note on the Social Structure of the ToastVerse~
> 
> *Social Classes are as follows:
> 
> Highest class - Whole grain, gluten free, wheat bread. These usually appear in the kitchen around noon to midday, and are from smaller and higher quality bakeries.
> 
> Second Level - Artisan Bread of any kind, specifically upper class baguettes. Fresh baguettes and sourdough are usually at the top of this class, though the occasional asiago cheese focaccia may appear along with others.
> 
> Third Level - Ciabatta, rolls, country, and various cheese breads (excluding asiago). These are seen to be the typical upper middle class.
> 
> Fourth Level - Bagels, muffins, toast, and sliced bread. The higher class amongst this level are from places like Trader Joe's, small markets, and homemade bread. Bread holding lower status is bought from major supermarkets such as Kroger's, Meijer's, and the most frowned upon shopping center... Walmart. This class is considered to be middle class.
> 
> Fifth Level - Muffies (the tops of muffins that are cut off and usually sprinkled with sugar), seasonal breads, and pasta. Amongst the breaded community, pasta is a rare persona, and whenever a pasta appears is is more often than not rude and disrespectful, with tendencies to curse frequently in Italian. For this reason, they are frowned upon. As for seasonal breads like pumpkin bread, zucchini bread, cinnamon bread, and fruitcake, the main problem had with society is that they are only really liked during winter, fall, spring, etc. These are considered lower class citizens.
> 
> Ground Level - Wheat by-products. Don't even get me started.
> 
> *In case you haven't noticed yet (it's not very well stated), but baguettes are typically higher class. The insult "baguette" is pseudonymous with "pretentious asshole."
> 
> Thanks for taking your time to read all of this! You guys are awesome. Really.
> 
> (kudos are GREAT and comments will make me be your friend forever XOXO)


	3. The Reichenbread Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnbread doesn't feel too well after talking to the mysterious seductive baguette. But when he returns to his oven, he finds Toastlock angry at him for some reason...

"You're back." Toastlock's words fell flatly to the ground like inactive yeast. Johnbread shivered, shedding a crumb or two as he slipped off his blueberry coat and stepped uneasily into their shared toaster oven.

"What's it to you?" he asked. He could tell something was wrong. Toastlock slouched in the corner, crust nearly falling off of his blacked core. His eyes sunk even further into his face, butter oozing out unbashedly.

"If you were going to be out all night chasing pretty baguettes with hot pink manicures and daddy issues, you could have at least told me before you left me to solve a burglary." His words cut into Johnbread mercilessly, more savage than a butter knife.

"It's not like that," Johnbread protested weakly, feeling all of his jam drip to the floor. He was answered by a sharp chuckle that grated against his ears uncomfortably. Johnbread shifted his weight and ran a hand over his golden crust.

"I think that's exactly what it's like." At this, the burnt wheat product looked up at Johnbread. The latter met his gaze, eyes sour-cream glazed with regret.

Maybe he should've told Toastlock where he was and what he was doing. He owed him that, right? What had made him so bitter, so sourdough like, so cruel that he would ever let Toastlock worry about him for so long?

"I..." Toastlock started to break down, clawing at his own eyes to wipe away the flowing margarine. "I kneaded you in my loaf, Johnbread. Rye did you have to leave?"

Johnbread closed the distance between them in two easy rolls. The familiar smell of charcoal wafted up to him, and for a moment he was seized by his old friend Nostalgia.

"I'm sorry, Toastlock. I am. I never knew I was going to be gone that long, but something went a-rye."

All of a sudden his face _burned_. A thin stream of something fruity-tasting trickled from his lip, the throbbing pain sealing one of his eyes shut. He gasped, choking on the strawberry jelly pooling in his mouth. Did Toastlock just punch him?

The rage that followed was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Betrayal _stung._ Dark browns and reds tinted his horizon, as the bread he loved turned on him without hesitation.

"Focaccia you." A deep sickness began to take root. The floor quaked beneath his feet but Toastlock didn't look phased.

The two words ripped Johnbread apart, and he almost regretted them as soon as he said them. Something had to be wrong, because his mind was usually clearer than this. The world began to dilate and twist at the corners, and nausea wrecked his weak inner core. His vision began to blur as Toastlock spoke, remorse puncturing his abdomen.

Toastlock was shouting something. He was worried. Why was he worried? Didn't he know that Johnbread didn't mean it? As Johnbread felt his consciousness slip away, he reached up a single hand to caress the side of Toastlock's cheek comfortingly. Then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I've updated this... Its not really a serious fic at all, so literally if you're still reading this I will actually cry because this was supposed to be over after the first chapter and now I guess it will never die.
> 
> THANKS MY DARLING READERS FOR ALL OF YOUR DELICIOUS AND SWEET COMMENTS! I seriously love you guys, and I wouldn't be where I am if not for you.
> 
> Note: This chapter was written a while ago so its kinda meh, but my friend wanted me to post it anyways despite the short length and the messy technique. Anyways, hope you enjoyed <3

**Author's Note:**

> updates extremely infrequently because of the procrastinating asshole i am :)


End file.
